


My Sweetest Downfall

by nightrose



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-25
Updated: 2010-02-25
Packaged: 2017-10-21 14:50:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/226402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightrose/pseuds/nightrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You’re a million pieces of fear and pain and he’s the only good thing you’ve ever had.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Sweetest Downfall

_**My Sweetest Downfall**_  
 **Title:** My Sweetest Downfall  
 **Author:** [](http://nightrose-spn.livejournal.com/profile)[**nightrose_spn**](http://nightrose-spn.livejournal.com/)    
 **Pairings:** Sam/Dean  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Word Count:** 4000  
 **Summary:** You’re a million pieces of fear and pain and he’s the only good thing you’ve ever had.  
 **Notes/Warnings:** My sam_dean_exchange fic, for [](http://auroraprimavera.livejournal.com/profile)[**auroraprimavera**](http://auroraprimavera.livejournal.com/)  .  Warnings for incest, mild D/s, language.

  
You fall for each other.

Sammy is just seventeen, all too-long legs and too-big eyes and a quiet fear that the world is going to be this way forever.

He’s so young, too young, but you can’t tear your eyes away.

Your baby brother and it’s so wrong, so wrong. You vow you’ll never tell him.

Until Sammy comes to you and shows you the letter. It looks like a death warrant. Your hands shake as you take the paper, unfold it, read it.

“I got in,” he says, “Full ride,” and you kiss him.

You hear the sound of your heartbeats, loud and painful, try to focus on that instead of what you’re doing.

“Don’t go,” you whisper. “Stay. With me.”

“Dean?”

“Either I’m right or I’m wrong. If I’m right, you feel the same way, and you’ll stay with me. If I’m wrong, you’re disgusted and you’ll go off to school. Am I right or wrong, Sammy?”

Sam’s eyes flutter closed and he seals his lips to yours in an almost-chaste kiss. You can feel all the weight and responsibility of holding your baby brother, ‘Take Sammy and run,’ surging over you.

Can’t lose him, can’t ever lose him, because he’s everything. You’re a million little pieces of fear and pain and he’s the only good thing you’ve ever had.

He’s pure and beautiful and part of you wants to corrupt him, touch him and take him and tear him to pieces, but that part is a small screaming filthy voice in the back of your mind. The reality is much simpler. You will protect him and care for him and love him, always love him, and if you are permitted to touch it will be gently, worshipping him, because he is yours, that’s true, but he isn’t like the other things you have. He’s not a broken-down memory or a disposable possession.

He is Sammy, and words can’t describe how precious he is to you.

After his graduation (and he’s so beautiful, standing there glowing with pride) you take him on a road trip. Dad gives you the keys and an almost-smile, says, “Give ‘em hell for me.”

He’s laid up at Bobby’s for the summer, his leg broken in six places.

You give your brother the world like it’s a gift. In the familiar leather seats, worn by a lifetime of the two of you laughing, fighting, falling in love in them, you take him from one side of the world to the other.

You start out on the East Coast. Some dignified old house in upstate New York is haunted. You and Sammy have to split up, and you nearly have a heart attack when you go to the sitting room where you’d left him and he’s gone. Half an hour of screaming his name, your whole body convulsing with utter terror, and one of the walls slides open, revealing the hidden library where he’s been happily holed up with a copy of Bulfinch’s mythology. “What?” he says when you try to yell at him. “It was interesting.” You sigh, grab him in a tight hug, and vow to never, ever let him go.

In Washington you stop by the ocean. There’s a trailer set up on the beach, surfboard leaning against the 50’s metal exterior. No door, just an American flag set up like a curtain. The same stars and stripes print covers the two beach chairs outside, surrounded by bright fires. Inexplicably, they burn all night. You hold Sammy’s hand and watch them like they’re fireworks. Tacky lights are strung up on top of the trailer, burning into the cool blue air of the night. It’s the Fourth of July.

He wants you to fuck him but the seedy motels where you sleep don’t seem right and his body is too long to spread out in the backseat of the Impala.

You wait for the perfect opportunity and it comes. The two of you cut through a gorgeous old house. It’s in sand-yellow brick, ornate white tracery in the windows, and through the weathered staircase, you can see from the open front door straight through the back, past and into the land beyond. Sammy runs his hand along the tendrils of ivy and takes your hand. You hop the fence in the backyard and find yourselves in a meadow. The world is hidden behind a high wall of trees, and the sun is bright against your skin.

He touches your face tenderly, and you lean in for the requested kiss.

“Are you sure, baby boy?” you whisper. Lust and something more are boiling in your stomach, demanding for you to touch, fuck, take, take… but this is Sammy. Anyone else in the whole world, if you wanted them this much, they’d be naked in the grass with your cock pounding into them already.

But it’s Sammy.

It’s Sammy and it’ll never be like that.

He is so beautiful, pure in a way nothing else in your life has ever been. You don’t want to debase him with this. You want to build him up, make him glow from the inside out.

“Yes. Fuck, please, De-“

You kiss him because he doesn’t have to beg for this, not ever. And maybe someday you’ll do it like that, you’ve tried it before and loved it. But that was some slutty girl in a bar. Not his sweet Sammy’s first time.

“I love you,” you mouth against his skin, your lips measuring the pulse in his neck. He’s alive under your touch, so real and it’s wonderful. You’ll never let anything hurt him.

“Love you too,” he murmurs in reply. Your hands tuck close around his waist, pulling his body to yours as your lips meet again.

You kiss him until he’s moaning into your mouth, until the slip-slide of tongues and teeth makes him melt into your arms.

Your hands undo the buttons of his shirt, exposing all that beautiful golden skin. You can’t resist the urge to touch, to let your fingertips slide against the firm muscles. His skin is fascinatingly warm. You take your time, massaging out the pressure in his shoulders.

You don’t want to stop touching him, not ever, but he murmurs your name so softly that you have to give him what he’s asking for. “Dean, De, fuck, Dean,” every breath a gasp and you gently, gently ease him down, spreading him out against the grass. The contrast is stunning, his bronze body shining with sweat in the sunlight, the green of the ground.

You straddle him, your forearms on either side of his chest as you lap at one of his nipples. He all but sobs out a plea for more.

You would never deny him.

You strip off your own clothes quickly, returning to pay more careful attention to the rippled muscles of his stomach, trailing kisses down further.

He’s so hard in your hand, hot and swollen. You want to wrap your mouth around him then and there, but he stops you. “In me, Dean, please…”

You smile down at him and pull a condom and a packet of lube out of your discarded pants’ pocket. Always prepared, that’s you.

You haven’t gotten tested yet, so of course you roll the condom on before you get distracted by things like your fingers and Sammy’s ass.

You don’t miss the way his breath hitches in fear. Your heart breaks a little. Doesn’t he know you would never hurt him? Not willingly and certainly not like this.

“Shh, baby boy,” you murmur. “Shh. I’ve got you.”

You circle his hole carefully, letting him feel the finger before you try to enter him. Even then, you’re careful, kissing him again. He sighs, relaxing into your lips.

After that, it’s simple. All touch and kisses and skin on skin. He opens up easily and lets you inside. You take it slow, so slow, because hurting him is beyond not an option.

You wrap him up in your arms, leaning over him to shelter and protect him. He gasps, eyes wide with surprised pleasure.

Your name has never sounded more beautiful than when he comes with it on his lips.

You kiss him to swallow up the sound, hearing instead the soft chirps of the birds and the rustle of wind in the grass.

When you come, it’s as simple as breathing, the pleasure mounting like a tidal wave that has no choice but to crash over, a natural release into his body.

The two of you lie there, breathing, just breathing.

The sun goes down.

You think then that everything will work out in the end.

You are very wrong.

Not even a week later, the two of you find a succubus. She is in a run-down cave, and you come to her at darkness. She sings your name, soft and sweet, and you look at her.

You should have known better.

You look at her and her magic pulls you in. Even as you’re fighting it, as Sammy calls your name, she pulls you close and kisses you.

Her lips are cold.

Everything happens quickly then.

Sammy calls your name. You pull away from her. You see her hiss and scream, devolving into nothing as Sammy splashes holy water on her face. You turn to your brother.

“Sammy-“

He doesn’t meet your gaze, and soon you know why.

The squalling pair of infants, hidden under a rock, has distracted him.

Succubi love children. They can’t have their own, so they steal humans. These two are orphans, their mother dead in childbirth and their father fallen prey to the succubus.

They’re so small in Sammy’s hands.

He says, “Drop us off at Bobby’s,” and you nod once, coldly.

You don’t beg him to let you stay. You’ve had your one taste of summer, and it will last.

At least, you hope for that.

You won’t drag him down. Not with those precious little lives in his hands, not with his head bowed with sorrow.

No, he’s free to go.

And he doesn’t ask you to go with him.

You take to the roads.

The Impala roars, engine over long dark roads, and you make yourself empty. You are a vessel for fear and adrenaline, veins pumping rage through your blood.

You miss love and sunshine and summer. You want to touch your brother’s skin.

You don’t go back.

Long days where the road is all you see, nights spent in a lonely motel room.

There are girls at bars that stare and flirt, but you never take the not-so-subtle offers.

Sammy probably has a pretty blonde girlfriend by now. You don’t begrudge him that. No, you want him to be happy.

And he’ll be happier without you there, that much you’re sure of.

It’s months before a hunt brings you by Bobby’s place. Sam is twenty-one now, the babies close to two. You wonder what their names are.

He heads you off at the pass. “You damn idjit, what the hell is your problem?”

“Good to see you to, Bobby. And how’s Dad?”

He ignores you completely. “Go see your brother.”

“Huh?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, boy. Go see your brother.”

“Bobby…”

“None of your bullshit. Go see your brother.”

You swallow. “Sammy doesn’t…”

“Do I have to have a word with your father?”

Oh, God, no. “No sir. I’m on my way, sir.”

“That’s a boy.”

You drive to the address Bobby gives you. Sammy is standing there, head bowed. He’s holding hands with the babies, small toddlers now. You’ve never seen anything so beautiful.

You get out, calling his name gently. He looks up at you, then runs to you, wrapping his arms around your body.

“Dean, please…”

“Shh. Shh.” You see it right away. You misunderstood. In your own blinding self-hate, you missed out on the fact that Sammy doesn’t look at you like that. You’re still his big brother, your hero, and he loves you.

You kiss him there, in the front yard, not caring who can see.

Sammy introduces you to the kids. Mary and Cas, barely two years old.

“I get Mary,” you say, “but why Cas?”

He flushes. “Came to me in a dream,” he says. “An… uh, an angel. That’s his name. The angel’s, I mean.”

You laugh at his flustered babbling, but not unkindly.

He’s happy. The house isn’t huge, but it’s comfortable. The well-worn furnishings suit him. There’s a good-sized library, full of tomes in languages that have probably been dead for centuries. The kitchen smells like apple pie baking.

“I might have had some advance warning you were on your way,” he admits when you moan at the sight of the golden pie. He cuts you a slice and you smile.

That night, he’s oddly possessive, as if seeing you with the succubus again. Of course, he’s still soft with his touches, gentle and submissive, but he lets his hands linger on your skin with every touch.

He doesn’t say that you’re his, but he writes the truth of it on your skin with a bruising kiss on your collarbone and a harder-than-usual hand in your hair as you swallow him down.

It’s a few weeks before you get an itch in your feet. The kids call you Daddy and you work with Bobby in the salvage yard but the thing is, your life has always been about the open road.

“I’m going on a hunt, Sammy,” you announce. He doesn’t let the hurt show in his eyes, but you feel it. Of course you do. “I’ll come back,” you add, gentler this time.

He nods, mouth tight.

He never gets used to it. Every couple of months, you have to get out, get away. You wonder when he’ll come to terms with the fact that you’ll always come back to him.

One night, when you’ve just gotten back, after he’s stuffed you full of all manner of lasagna and garlic bread (when did he learn how to cook? You assume it was sometime in the last two years), he takes you to bed.

That’s perfectly normal.

The handcuffs… aren’t.

“For you, or for me?” you ask, managing to keep your voice very, very calm.

“Me.”

You can see the same look in his eyes you saw the day you came back. He needs you, his big brother, there, to take care of him, to be stronger than him.

You push the restraints away, catching his wrists in your bare hands instead. He sighs and shifts underneath you.

“Stay still, baby boy,” you command, voice gentle. He obeys automatically.

After that, it’s so easy. He’s right on the edge of falling apart but you put him back together. You didn’t realize how thin he was stressed, waiting at home for you to come back, looking after the kids, holding down a job and doing night classes. You feel a spiral of guilt in your stomach.

You haven’t been taking good care of him.

“I’m sorry, Sammy,” you murmur. “I’m sorry. I’ll be better for you, I promise.” The words are quiet enough that he doesn’t hear, but the vibration of your breath against his neck makes him writhe. You smile. “That’s my good boy.”

You slick the way with fingers and spit, and he wraps his legs eagerly around you. You make love to him, careful not to hurt him, until he whispers, “Harder.”

You do as he asks.

You can’t stay with him forever. The world calls to you, begs to be saved, and it’s almost as tempting as the plea in your baby brother’s eyes.

You love him so much. You would die for him in a second, but you can’t let others die just because you need to be with him.

The two of you are at home alone, Mary and Cas already in bed, when you give it to him. The simple leather band is inscribed with his name on the outside and yours on the inside. His breath catches, and he falls off the couch, onto his knees in front of you.

You place two fingers under his chin, pull him up to meet your eyes. “Do you want it?” you ask. You take it he knows what it means.

He nods, and you circle his neck with one hand, feeling the psychotic beat of his pulse before fastening the collar in its place.

Dad comes with you on most of your hunts. He’s getting older now. Hasn’t lost his touch, but he’s glad to have you to wriggle into the tight spots, to look after him if he gets injured.

The two of you are in the tedious work of cleaning up after a coven of vampires when he clears his throat and says, “Son.”

“Yeah?” Your back straightens automatically. You’re a soldier, after all, and that tone of voice is something you’re basically trained to respond to.

“You. And your brother.”

Your stomach turns. Did Bobby tell him? Did Mary or Cas, with their sweet vocabularies of few words, let something vital slip?

“I just… uh. Wanted to let you know that I figured it… you know. Figured it out.”

Your face burns. “Um.”

“Yeah.”

There is a ridiculously awkward silence. You take a moment, beyond the pounding of your racing heartbeat, to take stock of the fact that he’s probably only realized the actual sex, not the other things.

Which makes your mind rush back to the image of Sam, the night before you’d left for this hunt, all stretched out on the bed, eyes closed at your soft command, begging wordlessly for a single touch. Which makes your heart beat fast for a whole other reason.

“Um. Yeah.” You take a shaky breath. “Want to deal with these bloodsuckers?”

Relieved, he nods, and the two of you turn wordlessly back to your work.

That night, in Sammy’s arms, his warm, soft mouth eagerly closing around you, your hand tangling in his hair as he worships you, you know that nothing could be more worth it than this.

The guilt, the pain, the sleepless nights…

Sam is more than a fair reward.

It’s a lot of responsibility, having him to take care of like this. It was simpler when he was an infant. Back then, it was a matter of feeding him and making sure he slept.

Now you have this whole emotionally complex, deeply broken man on your hands.

And then there’s the kids.

They, too, are something you wouldn’t give up for the world. Cas is so sweet, such a quiet, smart kid. He takes after his Dada, you think sometimes.

Mary’s more like you, a little spitfire. She has her moments of tenderness, but normally nothing will make her sit still. They call you “De,” imitating Sammy’s childhood nickname for you. It still slips out sometimes.

You sing a low lullaby, easing them to sleep in your arms. Mary is just big enough now that you have to shift position, letting her head loll against your shoulder. You carry her to bed, her brother already asleep beside her. Their faces are endlessly peaceful, pale-lavender lids closed over their wide eyes.

Mary’s eyes are green, but Cas’ are an endless pale blue. They both have dark curls, sticking to their faces as they sleep.

Your heart, too full of love, breaks looking at them.

“Dean?” you hear, and you turn automatically. Sammy is smiling.

“They’re beautiful,” you whisper. It hurts to think that you’ve missed out on even a single moment of this, but you know you’ll do it again. You can’t fit too neatly into this upper-middle-class life, can’t be the husband with the two kids, staying at home while Sammy finishes his law degree. They’ll be another hunt, because the Impala can’t sit in a three-car garage forever.

But you’ll cherish every moment in between.

“Take me to bed,” Sam whispers.

Your hand comes up to brush his collar. You hear his breath quicken.

“Please,” he adds, eyes blown so wide.

You kiss him, soft and slow, your hands bunching in his shirt. You pull him from your children’s room, push him to his knees on the floor of your bedroom.

He kisses the hand you place near his lips, drawing the fingertips into his mouth. Hot, wet, almost surprising pleasure bursts through you, and you bring the other hand to tangle in his long hair. So soft, just like the babies’ hair, fine strands between your fingers.

“Get yourself ready, baby boy,” you say. He strips efficiently for you, his hands sure and confident. He slicks himself with quick fingers, stretching so you won’t hurt him more than he wants. You let him set the limit for this, every time.

He lets out a sobbed, “Please,” as he puts the third finger in, and you smile, undoing your zipper.

His mouth closes around you, easily swallowing you down. You do your best to restrain the gasp of pleasure, to not tighten your hands in his hair too much.

He lets out soft moans as you fuck his mouth shallowly, rocking your hips just enough to draw those noises from him, not enough to make him gag or choke. “Ready?” you gasp, because you are. God, you’re barely holding back.

He nods.

“Good boy. Get on your back for me.”

You’d never take him any other way. Not unless you can see him, his wide, sweet eyes, blown so big with pleasure it feels like you’re going to drown in them. You help him onto the bed. He wraps his legs around you.

You groan as he tilts his head to one side, exposing his collared neck, a gesture of willing submission that never fails to stir up your lust.

He pants out your name with every breath as you slide easily into him, gentle movements into him as your teeth bite down viciously on his throat. It leaves a bright red mark.

“Baby brother,” you groan. His lips fall open in an open sigh. “Gonna take care of you. Always have. Always going to.”

The fact that this is wrong flits across your mind. He’s your little brother and he shouldn’t be beautiful like this. You shouldn’t mean this when you say “I love you.”

You envision the awkward discomfort on your father’s face, but even that can’t drive your need for Sammy away.

“Always been mine, too. Always gonna be.”

He moans, easy and unrestrained. The trust in that makes you fly apart, fall into pieces.

You lace your fingers through his, fucking him in earnest now, his cries growing louder with every thrust.

“Mine, all mine,” you whisper, and the way he falls apart under your touch puts you back together, fixes things you didn’t even know were broken.

He snuggles into your arms, eyes closed, and you don’t bother to tease him for it. That’ll always be part of what you are to each other, he’ll always be your baby brother, but first and foremost he is… your lover, your everything, the other half of your soul.

You kiss his forehead gently, watching as his breaths fall into the even rhythm of sleep.


End file.
